


The Imzadi Ruse

by starduchess



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Acting, Actors, Fictional Episode, Friendship, Gen, Imzadi, Male-Female Friendship, Mischief, Misses Clause Challenge, Season/Series 04, Star Trek: TNG
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 00:44:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2793575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starduchess/pseuds/starduchess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marina and Jonathan enjoy pulling one over on their directors with their Imzadi act. They say the fans eat it up. ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Imzadi Ruse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Leyenn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leyenn/gifts).



> No actors were harmed in the making of this fic.
> 
> Roughly takes place during season 4 of Star Trek: The Next Generation, but I made up my own episode.
> 
> Thanks goes to my quick beta, isisanubis.
> 
> To leyenn, when I read your Star Trek RPF fandom request, it intrigued me and I couldn't stop thinking about it. And you're right: if you can't ask for it in Yuletide, when can you? I hope you enjoy what I've come up with, and Merry Christmas!

“Number One! Meet me on the comm deck in twenty minutes.” Patrick Stewart said in his role as Captain Jean-Luc Picard.

“Sir,” interrupted Marina Sirtis as Deanna Troi, “we really ought to discuss the …,” here she paused a second and looked down in nervousness, as if she was searching for the right word, before her eyes returned to Patrick’s, “... first night among the Turk’noks.” Nothing else changed in her stance or demeanor, but all the crew could feel the undercurrent of sexual tension suddenly in the room.

Patrick, for his part, ignored the hormones in the air and simply acknowledged her request at face value. “Certainly, Counselor. Please join the meeting as well.”

She nodded her head in agreement and lowered her eyes in respect for his authority. “Thank you, sir.”

He nodded his head once in return. “Dismissed.” With that he strode over to the door on stage left, which opened upon his approach. He continued through it, presumably into the Captain’s office, though on set there was nothing there.

Focus returned to the middle where the others on deck were still standing or sitting. Jonathan Frakes, playing the First Officer, Commander William Riker, narrowed his eyes at the retreating form of his captain, then he frowned slightly as he took in the downtrodden look in Marina’s eyes. He took a slight step toward her and said his line, “Are you concerned about tonight? You shouldn’t be. The Turk’nok are a peaceful people, from what we’ve observed.”

Marina turned to him slightly, raising her eyes and leveling him with a stony face. “I’m not worried. It’s just that a certain protocol has to be … observed, sir.” Her manner was calm, but her eyes displayed her unease.

Jonathan smiled a little and gently placed his hand on her arm. “I know. I’ll be careful. And you’ll be there to steer me back on course should I go wrong, right?” A twinkle entered his visage that gave layers of meaning to that statement.

Marina’s cheeks warmed just a little and she averted her eyes down to his chin. “I will.”

He smiled that winning grin of his. “Good! I’ll see you in a few minutes, then. I need to check with Geordi in Engineering for that list of supplies, first.” He squeezed her arm in comfort before walking up the bridge and to the lift doors at the back. Marina watched him go.

“CUT! Great scene, guys! Let’s run it again. I like the squeeze, Frakes, but this time try it with a little pat to her arm instead. I want to visually see which one’s better. Okay, places!” Director Rob Bowman barked a few more orders as the crew reset the scene for another take.

Jonathan gave Marina another squeeze to the arm as he took up his place again. She smiled at him in return before schooling her features back into those of the serious and worried Troi.

\----

Everyone walked off set hours later, exhausted from a long day of standing and sitting, standing and sitting. Thirsty, Marina walked over to the refreshments table, picked up a water bottle, and drank deeply. 

Jonathan sauntered over to her and picked up an hors-d'oeuvre cracker. He stuffed the whole thing in his mouth and hummed loudly in appreciation of the delicacy. 

She almost spit out her water as she laughed at his antics. “You are incorrigible, you know that?”

He gave her a haughty look. “Of course I do! It’s part of my charm.” He couldn’t hold the stuck-up look for long and broke into a big grin.

She laughed some more. “I’ll say. You just turn on that smile and all is forgiven.”

“Too true,” he said, still smiling. “Bowman caught my little arm squeeze earlier.”

She rolled her eyes. “He did. Kolbe wouldn’t have cared and Beaumont would have questioned all the nuances and ‘motivations’ of our characters. It’s really interesting to watch how the different directors take to our Imzadi routine.”

“Yeah, I know. It cracks me up. So, my dear Imzadi, are you going to LeVar’s party on Saturday?”

Finishing her water, she nodded her head with enthusiasm. “Wouldn’t miss it. Sounds like a blast. I’ll be bringing a friend along.”

His eyes bugged out in mock horror. “A _male_ friend?” After her ‘yes’ he placed his hand over his heart. “Oh, you wound me! How can I reclaim thee for myself?”

She doubled over in laughter at that. “To reclaim implies that you had me to begin with. Besides, Casanova, you’ve got plenty of conquests; you don’t need me.”

He smiled back at her, acknowledging both the joke and the truth in her declaration. “Too true, too true. Pity. We do make a cute couple.”

“In the fangirls’ dreams, not to mention the writers’.” She glanced over at the scripts. “Speaking of which, what are we going to do next time?”

Jonathan thought about this for a minute. “Well, you definitely need to give me more longing looks when we’re both on set, and of course put on that pouty, jealous face of yours when we get planetside for the dinner.”

Marina’s face displayed shock then turned irate. “I do not have a pouty, jealous face.”

“Of course you do! It’s fabulous! The fans eat it up.”

She rolled her eyes at him and nudged him in the stomach with her elbow. “I’ll see what I can do.”

\----

Marina stood off to the side, waiting for directions. She had just come from Wardrobe, hair and makeup already done, which had taken much longer today since she was dressed for the dinner scene.

“Wow! You look fantastic!”

She turned to see Jonathan coming up beside her. “Thanks. So do you.”

He scoffed. “This is just the standard Starfleet dress uniform. Not sure why the costume designers made it a literal dress, other than to embarrass us, of course. I feel much more comfortable in our normal outfits.” He fidgeted a bit in the extended shirt that really did come close to a dress.

She had to appreciate the view, though, and gestured downward. “They probably wanted a good look at your legs. Those tights are always nice.” She smiled and winked at him, but then she gestured down at herself. “But why am I always stuck in these things? I’m supposed to be a Starfleet officer as well, yet they continue to make my character wear these very feminine pieces.”

Jonathan looked her over, also appreciating the view. He flicked his index finger in little circles at her image. “Flimsy, gaudy, red swirls are very becoming on you.”

She gave him an exasperated look. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

He laughed. “Okay, I get it. But Deanna is supposed to be more the ambassador type, so trying to please the ‘locals’ would be more in-line with her character. Don’t you agree?”

She sighed. “I suppose. I just wonder if Deanna gets as annoyed with the stares at her cleavage as I do.”

“But it’s good cleavage,” he said, earning him a smack to the shoulder. “Ow.”

“PLACES!” called their director.

“Time for dinner,” she said.

\----

“We have rights to the minerals and we’re going to take them!” shouted the Ferengi leader at Captain Picard. The actor saying his lines was standing off-stage in front of the crew, yet behind the cameras, so they could focus on him as if his image really was before them. His face would be added in digitally from another shoot later.

Patrick took a step forward. “The Ferengi have no prior claim to this planet. The natives here do not need your influence nor do they want your presence. You need to leave.”

“Bah! The Federation has no place here either! Your threats are meaningless and your high-handed manners do not intimidate us. Finders keepers. Baken, take us down to the planet.”

“Yes, sir,” said the other Ferengi actor from off stage.

“Stay out of my way, Picard.” At that point, the Ferengi would cut the communications line and his face would blank out from the vid screen on the bridge.

“Ensign!” Patrick said, his voice very commanding.

“He’s cut the communications line and their ship has started a descent out of orbit to the planet,” said Wil Wheaton, who played the genius teenager, Wesley Crusher.

“Worf, send out the blockade runners.”

“Ay, sir.” Michael Dorn, playing Worf, touched some spots on his flat work board, which layout he had memorized in accordance with his actor’s contract. Marina had seen some of those and knew they were quite elaborate.

Her attention focused back on Patrick, who was saying, “We need to prevent the Ferengi from landing. Comm, try hailing them on all channels. Send a report to Starfleet and have an emergency signal ready to go.”

“Sir, they are arming!” said Michael.

“Shields up.”

“The Ferengi have fired,” said Wil.

All the crew tensed at this, ready for action, and watched their director for non-verbal instructions. They had already gone over the details of this aerial fight scene and had practiced this a couple of times to get the movements right, but it still helped having Bowman directing with hand signals.

“Evasive maneuvers. Worf, ready weapons systems.”

The first blast landed and Bowman signaled them to jostle in their seats.

Michael tapped his work surface after steadying himself. “Weapons ready, sir.”

“Good,” Patrick said, “Comm, anything?”

“Not yet, sir. Still hailing.”

“Second firing,” said Wil. “Impacting.” Bowman signaled again for the jostling. “Shields holding at eighty percent.”

“Fire a warning shot across their bow,” Patrick said, his voice calm.

“Ay, sir. Firing.” Michael made a few more taps.

They waited while the special effects were going off, which would be added in later.

“Ferengi leader is hailing us, sir.”

At this point the Ferengi leader would come back on the screen. “You will not take us, Starfleet! You are impeding free trade and I don’t think your political leaders will appreciate that.”

Patrick, still calm as ever, said, “On the contrary, our leaders will applaud our efforts to protect this planet and its civilization. I meant what I said earlier -- you need to leave. Now.”

“No!” The screen would go blank again here.

“He’s very upset,” Marina said. That seemed quite obvious to everyone on board.

“Communications have broken again, sir,” Wil said. “The Ferengi ship is moving into attack formation.”

“Prepare for battle.”

At this point, the crew tensed and Marina put a worried look on her face. She glanced at Jonathan, whose eyes met hers. He gave a brief nod for reassurance and she returned her focus forward. She wasn’t sure anyone else caught the movement, but it would be there on the tape.

Several more minutes went by with increasing attacks, each subsequent hit causing the crew to become more jostled at their stations.

“Sir, shields are down to twenty percent.”

“Steady on. Maneuver away when you can -- make it erratic. Worf, I want them crippled.”

“Ay, sir,” they both said.

Then a bright blue crackle light, like lightning the script described it, was to lash out from the Ferengi ship directly at them. It would land with a great big jolt. Bowman signaled for thrown bodies.

Marina launched herself sideways out of her chair and landed on the floor in front of Patrick. Jonathan, too, threw himself out of his chair to end up on his knees. His right arm went out to steady himself and then he shot out his left hand to help Marina up. She grasped his hand in gratitude, holding on a might too long, before they both shifted back to their chairs.

“Sir, whatever that was it went right through our shields! Engineering was hit and forward stabilizers are failing.”

“Worf, take them down! Ensign, reroute power from lesser systems,” ordered Patrick. He put a little strain in his voice. Such perfect acting.

“Incoming!”

The ship was hit again, even more forcefully. Bowman made a big sweeping arc for his signal. All the crew jumped and fell sideways to the right. Marina landed on Patrick.

“CUT!” said Bowman. “It’s good, but I want even more falling. Really push yourselves out of those chairs. Take it from ‘Worf, take them down.’”

They reset themselves and Patrick delivered his line again. They all jumped higher from their seats, but this time Marina landed on Jonathan’s legs.

“CUT! It’s almost there, but I think I want more stumbling, so try to stay more upright.”

They reset and ran Patrick’s lines again. Marina stumbled upright, and they all ended up vertical.

“CUT! Try it again. A little more force on the stumbling. I want some of you back on the ground at the end of the shaking.”

They all groaned.

“This is when we need stunt doubles,” Michael groused.

They all chuckled in agreement.

Places reset, they shot the scene again. This time Marina managed to stumble into Jonathan, their combined inertia sending them to the floor as Bowman wanted.

“Excellent! Keep going.”

Marina gave Jonathan a small smile. She knew their fans would interpret it as affection for her Imzadi, but she knew the real truth. It was all about their conspiracy to play up their parts under the directors’ noses, to see how much they could get away with.

And it looked like they had just succeeded again.


End file.
